


You Don't Need To Show Off (I'm Already Yours)

by 1lostone



Series: Hey There Little Red [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Because Dylan O'Brien in a suit? Goddamn., Because it snuck in there, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, People on Tumblr made this happen, Prompt Fic, Semi-Public Sex, Sequel to Hey There Little Red, Suit Porn, Voyeurism, and some angst, this is porn, unsafe driving practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1lostone/pseuds/1lostone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Stiles thinks that he's the plot point of every John Hughes movie ever to exist. When Derek finally gets around to taking Stiles out on their first date, he finds out he's right.   Prompts at the end notes :) Explicit in later chapters. Sorry -they keep tripping over angst. Thanks to Diva for the title!</p><p>(Oh, and parts of this are unbeta'd. The parts that are awesome, blame diva0789. The parts that suck, blame me. :D)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Diva0789](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diva0789/gifts), [tinocka](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tinocka), [kirawords](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kirawords), [Ihni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihni/gifts).



 

* * *

  
Stiles fucking hated wearing a suit.    
  
It wasn’t so much the fine material, or the way he felt covered up enough to bring back the Victorian maiden look (my God, is that a _wrist bone_?! Shocking!), but more the way that the goddamn thing was so fucking uncomfortable that Stiles was pretty sure he had internal organs compressed against things that were never meant to compress against anything else.  He felt like a cabbage roll. A _Stilinski_ roll.  
  
Stiles tugged the waistcoat a little, frowning into the mirror. What the fuck. Was he _Mycroft Holmes?!_ Who the hell wore a waistcoat anymore? He wrinkled his nose, staring at how the rich, chocolate tone of the fabric was perfectly fitted. Did they even call them waistcoats anymore? Add a monocle and he’d be rocking the Mr. Monopoly look.    
  
_Not exactly, Stiles._    
  
He could just hear Derek now.   Stiles sighed again and pulled at his collar with one finger. The off-white (the tailor- _tailor!_ \- had sniffed and called it ecru, not anything as pedestrian as _off-white)_ shirt had such a fine thread count that it almost felt like he wasn’t wearing anything at all.  The blue tie and expertly-folded handkerchief for the pocket were the exact same shade of blue as Derek’s eyes. Stiles didn’t even know how Lydia had found it, but he couldn’t deny that it gave him a funny sort of thrill. He looked ... well.  
  
Pretty damn good.  
  
Stiles stared at the mirror, turning a little so that he could see his reflection from  a couple of different angles. He manfully ignored the fact that he was bare-ass naked under the fancy suit trousers. The tailor had insisted that underwear of any kind would mar the lines of the suit. Lydia had agreed, and well. Stiles now found himself admiring his ass in a mirror. Grudgingly he could admit that the two of them had been right.  
  
“Stiles! He’s here!”  
  
The attack of nerves was a shock. Stiles actually watched his eyes bug out a little, noting his reflection bite his lip before Stiles blinked again and twitched. He brushed his slightly clammy hands on the material of his suit and took  deep, shaky breath.  
  
“Be right there, dad!”  
  
Stiles detoured to his room to grab the jacket, sliding it onto his frame with a quick jerk of ridiculously expensive fabric.  “Well. Here goes nothing,” he muttered under his breath. Stiles huffed out a small sigh and took the stairs two at a time, feeling like the plot of every cheesy ‘80’s movie _in existence_ was lining up to haunt him. Somewhere, John Hughes was cackling madly.  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
Just the one word and Stiles stopped with a small squeak of his shoe, jerking his gaze up to Derek’s.  
  
He could see it.  
  
In all the time they’d been together, Stiles had gotten to be somewhat of an expert at reading Derek’s expressions. Just about everyone could interpret ‘angry’ or ‘broody’  (there was a lot of practice for that one, really.), and tended to give Derek wide berth whenever his brow furrowed in quite that way.  But Stiles? Stiles knew ‘worried’ and ‘heated’ and ‘look here you little shit. If you don’t put down that gun _right now_  I’ll shoot you my goddamn self’. Stiles knew ‘playful’ and felt that he had a close, personal relationship with ‘heated’ and ‘turned-on’ and ‘about to make him come so hard he forgot his own name.’  
  
This expression? Stiles didn’t know what to call it. He just knew that after Derek’s gaze raked over him, he felt naked. Possessed and owned and holy shit there was no possible way for his dick to twitch in trousers this perfectly fitted and he would _sprain_ his _junk_ and  it was really, _really_ fucking awkward realizing  that his dad was standing by the tv, smirking at the two of them.  
  
Stiles forced himself to take a deep breath. Derek would smell his nervousness and... well. Stiles didn’t want anything to go wrong tonight.  
  
“Don’t you two look cute?”  
  
Derek seemed to jump a little, like he’d been goosed. Stiles was floored to see a small flush high on Derek’s cheekbones. Well that answered that question. Derek was definitely thinking something positive resulting in orgasms. That was just about the only way the he’d ever blush.  
  
“Uh. Sorry, Mr. Stilinski. We should be going. Our reservation is at eight.”  
  
_Reser_ **va** _tion?!_  
  
Stiles knew he was probably gaping a little stupidly (well, more stupidly than normal anyway),  but where the hell did someone make reservations in _Beacon Hills_?!  
  
“Uh. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I need to blindfold you now.” Derek took a step forward, the piece of black silk sliding between his long fingers. Seeing it caused Stiles to raise an eyebrow, once again horribly aware that his dad was just a few feet away, trying his dogged best to look like he wasn’t having an aneurysm at the idea of his son’s boyfriend using a blindfold.  
  
“How is it that my life has gotten to the point that you telling me that sounds completely normal?” Stiles was proud that his voice didn’t squeak when he spoke.  
  
They both ignored Stiles’ dad’s muttered ‘ _Jesus Christ’_ as Stiles took a half-step forward, meeting Derek halfway.  Stiles quirked an eyebrow and turned away, staring resolutely at the floor. The small piece of fabric felt strange against his face. He tried to hide the small shiver that danced across his spine at Derek’s light touch, but didn’t think he was completely successful by the way Derek’s breath hitched softly against the nape of Stiles’ neck.  
  
Jesus Christ indeed.  
  
“Do I need to give you a curfew?”  
  
Stiles licked his lips, shivering a little at the snug tightness of the blindfold around his eyes.  Sadly, it wasn’t the first time that Stiles had found himself blindfolded, but it _was_ the first time he’d found himself blindfolded by his boyfriend. Stiles shook his head towards his dad, rolling his eyes under the tightly-wrapped cloth. Belatedly he realized that there was no way his dad could see him roll his eyes and mentally rolled his eyes again at his own stupidity.  
  
“You haven’t given me a curfew since I was in high school!” Stiles told himself he wasn’t whining. But it sounded suspiciously like whining.  
  
“That would be a lot more impressive if it had been longer than a few weeks since you’d graduated, you know.”  
  
Stiles felt his throat tighten at the way he could feel Derek freeze behind him, his muscles tensing as Stiles’ dad cheerfully and completely obviously put his foot in his his mouth.  
  
Mentioning Stiles’ graduation (Salutatorian; _damn you Lydia Martin_ ) tended to have that effect. Hell, the rest of the pack didn’t even _mention_ things that had happened during that entire _week._ As far as they were concerned, it was the Week-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named.  The fact that Stiles’ dad had no clue what was going on was Stiles’ own fault. He’d never let on how hurt he’d been.  
  
And now?  
  
Now his dad was about to fuck up his and Derek’s first date.


	2. Chapter 2

*****  
  
“You know I’m not ...mad.” Stiles felt Derek’s hand on the top of his head, cushioning him from hitting it against the top of the car frame before Derek helped him slide into the passenger side of the car.  
  
Derek made a small sound in the back of his throat before he shut the door. Stiles heard the click of Derek’s shoes as they crunched on gravel, then the muted _ding ding ding_ of the door’s alarm when he opened the driver’s door. The car door shut with a loud bang. It made him jump, even though he was expecting it.  
  
Stiles felt a little like a tool in the blindfold, but Derek had insisted and Stiles had been so hopeful that the night wasn’t already fucked up that he hadn’t really cared either way.  Still, it was kind of hard to ignore the way he was sweating a little under the soft cloth, never mind the overly-obvious feeling of sitting in the passenger seat of Derek’s Camaro (that at least was easily recognizable. Stiles might have had... impure thoughts about that car, and sliding into the leather seats was so familiar that he hardly drooled anymore.), blindfolded, like a complete and utter dumbass. At least the windows were tinted. Stiles could hear Derek in the seat next to him, hear the low grind of Derek’s molars as the enamel scraped together.  
  
Shit.  
  
_Shit._  
  
So much for the date.    
  
Stiles jumped when he felt Derek’s fingers brush against his cheek. He knew he wasn’t successful in hiding the sharp breath. Derek’s touch was like that. A burst of heat, the slow hot drag of his callused fingertips, and Stiles’ heart beating crazily in his chest.     
  
“Uh. So, where are we going?”  
  
“It’s a surprise.”  
  
The low thrum of Derek’s voice made Stiles’ tongue dart nervously across the pink flesh of his lower lip. He wasn’t even sure why he was so nervous. It was a bit ridiculous, really. They’d been together for over a year.  It wasn’t like Stiles didn’t completely trust Derek with his life. _Had_ trusted him with his life, in fact. Numerous times. But sitting here in Derek’s car, blindfolded was just enough out of his comfort zone that everything seemed a little too much. Not... bad exactly. Just ... weird. Good weird.  
  
Stiles had always heard that people who lose one sense have others that make up for it. From what he could tell it was true. He could hear everything more clearly: the quiet rustle of Derek’s clothes as he shifted in a the leather seat, the low growl of the car’s engine, his own slightly-quickened breathing. Stiles’ skin felt sensitive, like a low-grade current was just under the surface. He was overly aware of his body- how the just almost _weirdness_ of being blindfolded had his body a little too aware of itself.  
  
“I. Uh. I like surprises.”  
  
Stiles heard Derek’s snort.  Okay so maybe “like” was a bit of an understatement.  
  
Derek wasn’t ever what one would call ‘talkative’, but with every mile he was quickly becoming that special level of closed-down that made Stiles a little nervous. Not because Derek would ever do anything to hurt him- that thought was pretty much laughable- but because Stiles selfishly, greedily wanted them to have one night to themselves. A good night. A great date night. He didn’t want some offhand comment of his dad’s ruining anything.  
  
Stiles sighed. Feeling a little bereft, Stiles reached out with his left hand, brushing against Derek’s elbow.  He licked his lips again.  “I mean it. I’m just... glad to be here. With you.” Of course with you, dumbass. Who else would Stiles let blindfold him and stick him in a ridiculously expensive suit? Stiles rolled his eyes again under his blindfold.  
  
Derek reached forward to turn on the car radio and Stiles settled back in the car seat, listening to the low music.  He used muscle memory to reach out and touch Derek’s knee, curling his fingers around and sliding his hand back a little on Derek’s thigh.  It was weird to feel the muscles under fabric instead of denim, but Stiles liked it.  
  
“Okay. So... where are we going?”  Stiles dug his fingertips into Derek’s leg a little, rubbing slightly as he shifted in his seat.    
  
“I told you. We’re going to eat.”  
  
“Well, yeah you told me that, but that doesn’t really _tell_ me anything.”  
  
“Hmm.”  Derek hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Stiles.  It was a habit that drove Stiles absolutely bugshit. Sort of like the Hale version of a pat on the head. Stiles rolled his eyes again under the blindfold and let his hand slide slowly down over muscle and skin towards the bulge of Derek’s crotch,  then moved it back towards Derek’s knee. Stiles made it three more times before his fingers brushed against Derek, smirking a little to himself when he heard Derek’s breath catch. Things had been so crazy lately that Stiles couldn’t remember the last time that he’d been able to just relax and just... touch.  
  
“Uh, no time for that.” Derek caught Stiles’ hand with his own, bringing it up to rub against the side of his face. Stiles shivered at the feel of the smooth skin. “We’re here.”  
  
Stiles felt the car slow down, and frowned a little. He could feel the car jolting about as Derek drove slowly over gravel.  It didn’t feel like anywhere he knew.  His sense of direction was completely fucked up, but he knew that the commercial district didn’t have gravel as pavement.  Derek turned the tables on Stiles, kissing his knuckles before letting his hand go.  It was Stiles’ turn to hear his breath catch in his throat. It sounded much louder than it should have.  
  
“Hang tight. I just need to make sure something is ready before you get out of the car.”  
  
“Okay.”    
  
Stiles heard the _ding_ of the car door again, heard Derek’s quick footsteps against the gravel as he walked off to somewhere.  
  
“Fuck,” Stiles muttered, huffing out a breath. He couldn’t tell how long he sat there, but he jumped about three feet when his door opened. Stiles had been leaning against it, and was only saved from falling on his ass by Derek’s ridiculously quick reflexes.    
  
Stiles went to thank him with a kiss, but froze, horrified as his lips brushed against a jaw that wasn’t supposed to be there. He might be blindfolded, but Stiles _knew_ what Derek’s body should feel like, and this? This wasn’t Derek.  
  
“Uh.” Stiles’ went through two or three different thoughts before settling on, “What the fuck, man?  Who do you think you are?!” Stiles took a step back until his back was flush against the Camaro’s door.  
  
“Chill, dude. Who do _you_ think I am?”  
  
Stiles whole body relaxed.  He’d heard that voice for as long as he could remember.  
  
“Well, in _that_ case...” Stiles launched himself forward, giving Scott a big, wet, goofy kiss on his lips. “Mmmm--wah!”  He could almost hear the disgust in Scott’s voice as he batted him off, and grinned, pleased with himself.  
  
“Eurgh. Dude. Not cool. Ugh.”  Stiles could imagine the way Scott was wiping at his face, like he was being attacked by bees or something.  His grin was a little beatific as Scott grabbed his elbow and pulled him along. “Derek’s gonna hand me my balls. I felt your _tongue_.”  
  
Stiles snorted, biting his lip to keep from laughing. “All’s fair in love and smooches, man. Besides, you scared the hell out of me.”  
  
Scott’s voice hit a higher register in protest. “Oh come on. Like Derek would ever let anything happen to you. That. That was totally not my fault!  You just kissed me before I could tell you who I was!”  
  
“Scott.”  
  
They both froze a little at the way Derek said Scott’s name. Scott stopped so quickly that the gravel slid out from under his shoes. Stiles started to ask what the actual fuck was going on, but before he could, he felt the soft brush of Scott’s fingers against the knot of fabric at the back of his head. The blindfold fell away with a soft kiss of fabric against Stiles’ cheekbones. Stiles stood there, frozen, his mouth dropping open in complete and utter shock.  
  
The bright fluorescent lights would, at just about any other time, made Stiles squint in reaction from going from such utter blackness to complete touched-by-Jesus- light. But now?  It made him wonder if what he was seeing was even actually _real._

Derek stood about fifteen feet away, holding a red rose in his hand.  Derek stood with that complete confidence that Stiles envied, the confidence that came with knowing exactly where you stood in life. Stiles didn’t think he’d ever be that confident if he lived to be eighty-five. Stiles blinked, still standing there, utterly shocked.  
  
That would have been the cherry on the top of the sundae of every single hastily stifled, silly, utterly romantic, completely ridiculous fantasy Stiles might have ever had about his boyfriend, but it was the fact that Derek was standing in front of a small two-seater Beechcraft airplane that made Stiles feel a little faint.  There was even a red carpet leading from the small craft to where Stiles and Scott were standing.  
  
Stiles felt his face heat in a blush so dark that he was amazed that the rest of his body was actually still working. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to jump up and down with a very unmanly shriek  or slump over in a swoonish faint.  
  
This. This was... holy fucking _shit_.  
  
“Dude. He’s been planning this for like, forever. What the hell are you just standing there for?” Scott’s whisper was low enough that Derek couldn’t hear them, even with the super-nifty werewolf hearing. Stiles felt a not-so-insignificant shove against his back, and he took one halting step towards Derek. Then another, and another, feeling his face stretching in a shocked, amazed smile.  
  
Derek shifted slightly on his feet, stroking the petals of the rose with one hand. Stiles blinked again, noticing that Derek’s hand was shaking just slightly. The idea that Derek could be even the slightest bit nervous absolutely floored him. Derek actually ducked his head a little when he saw Stiles’ smile, and for some reason the sight of it made Stiles’ throat hurt.  
  
Derek held out the rose. “Well? Uh. We do have a reservation to keep. We really should be on our way.”


	3. Chapter 3

****  
Stiles breathed slowly, staring around at the people in the restaurant.  He darted a quick gaze to the older couple sitting directly across from he and Derek, to the dessert tray, to the fountain in the middle of the restaurant, to the waiters standing almost at attention, stationed near each little alcove as though just waiting  for someone to need something. Derek’s arm brushed Stiles’.The brush of Derek’s hand against his knee made Stiles hiss out a breath. He felt himself relax a little, finally able to stop his foot from nervously jumping up and down. Derek was seated at Stiles’ right, his back to the rest of the room, but with his attention on the door. It was strangely intimate having him that close, instead of across the table. Stiles hadn’t said anything about the positions they were sitting in; not wanting to rock the boat.  Stiles looked down at the array of forks at his place setting, had a really strange and awkward moment where he pictured himself as Julia Roberts, then reached for a breadstick.  
  
The past hour or so had been completely weird.  
  
“This is completely weird.” He chewed, then swallowed, biting his lip a little. Shit, even the bread tasted expensive. Stiles watched Derek take a sip of his water. “Like, two hours ago, I thought we were going for Italian down by the square, and now I’m sitting...” Stiles flailed a little with his hand, hitting his own water glass and watching with dread as it started to fall over. Derek’s hand shot out like a flash, righting it so that not even a drop sloshed over the side. Stiles felt his cheeks heat with a blush.  
  
“... sitting in a dark, secluded corner with your boyfriend?”  
  
“Sitting! In a dark, secluded corner with my boyfriend! Who can _fly planes_!”  
  
Derek just smirked at him.  
  
“And like, this restaurant! I’ve never been anywhere so fancy. I feel like the busboys are judging me for using the wrong fork or something.”  
  
“I don’t think anyone is looking, Stiles. Which is a shame. I... like showing you off.”  
  
Stiles raised an eyebrow, ignoring the way his whole body seemed to seize. Over the last year he’d gotten better at hiding his reaction to Derek saying anything even remotely hot. Good thing too, or random people on the street would try to force seizure meds down his throat. Stiles blinked, trying to focus on something besides his body’s reaction to the low tone of Derek’s voice.  
  
“Shame.” It was Stiles’ turn to smirk. “They’re missing the whole Stilinski experience, here. I mean... I look hot.” He waggled his eyebrows, trying to lighten the  earlier mood. It wasn’t quite painfully awkward, but it was getting there. Stiles’ foot started to jump again as he took in his surroundings, feeling terribly out of place.  
  
Derek’s grin was a little strained. Off. “ You do. I like you in a suit.”  
  
“You like me out of it t--uh. Hello!”  
  
“Good evening, sir. Mister Hale. Are you ready to order?”  
  
“I think we’ll take the mushrooms to start.”  
  
Stiles blinked, blushing a little. He hadn’t even seen a menu. He looked down at his half-eaten breadstick, staring at it like it held all the answers to the universe.  
  
The thing was, Stiles was pretty sure he knew what was going on here. The date had been so unexpected, and it was so over the top, that he had a sneaking suspicion that he knew why Derek had put all this in the works. He took another bite of his breadstick and tried not to let his shoulders drop. Because this? This wasn’t them. They weren’t “date” kind of guys. Hell, it had been over a year since Derek had saved him, or he had saved Derek (depending on who you asked) and they’d never even been _out_ together.  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
Stiles jumped. The waiter was already back with the appetizer. Another waiter brought them drinks. Derek was drinking wine, but Stiles had just ordered a soda. It wasn’t often that he worried too much about their age difference, but getting carded in a place like this would have made him want to hide under the table.    
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Why are you so nervous? Is it because... I didn’t make your graduation?”  
  
Stiles blinked, turning so he could look Derek in the face. “What?” Stiles felt his jaw drop. “Derek! You had pack stuff to deal with. Between the Alpha pack and Peter... hell, I don’t know when you found time to _sleep_ , let alone come to my gradua--”  
  
Stiles broke off in mid word- staring at his boyfriend with wide eyes. Oh. _Ohhh._ Suddenly things clicked into place. The way not one member of the pack- not even Isaac for Christ’s sake-- would talk to Stiles about where Derek had been. They’d had plans after- for dinner with his dad, but Derek had just texted that he couldn't make it. Stiles had gotten the text about three seconds before his Salutatorian speech, and... “ Is that why you’ve done all of --this?”  Stiles couldn’t help the way his voice cracked. He was so relieved that his eyes actually teared up.  
  
Derek’s hand grabbed his over the table, looking horrified. “Sti--”  
  
“Then you’re not breaking up with me?” Stiles blurted it, interrupting Derek’s concerned gaze.  
  
Only Derek Hale could still be that stupidly attractive sitting there with his jaw open.  
  
Stiles began to feel really, terribly stupid. Not quite at the level of Derek seeing him fucking himself with a vibrator stupid (although, that was still Stiles’ number one most embarrassing moment ever. Still. He didn’t even know if you could have secondhand embarrassment over something _you were principally involved in_ , but if you could, Stiles had it.) Derek wasn’t just looking shocked, but the flinch of hurt made Stiles want to take back the last two minutes of his own stupid conversation and even stupider insecurities.  
  
Derek held up a hand.  
  
“Okay. Wait.” He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it, only to open it again. Derek squinted in that way he had when something involving emotions just didn’t compute then his lips stretched down in a frown.  
  
Great, Stiles thought. I broke him.  
  
Derek huffed out a breath then leaned forward. “You think that I took you out... to break up with you?”  
  
Stiles blushed. “Well. Uh. When you say it like _that_....” He reached out to take a drink of his soda, feeling kind of ridiculous. Stiles frowned. “Wait. Why would you think I was mad at you? I know the pack comes first, Derek. I guess... that’s why I was so surprised at all the hoopla of our date. I mean... dressing up? a blindfold? a freaking _plane_?!”  
  
The old lady next to them dropped her fork, looking scandalized.  
  
Derek’s gaze cut to her, then back to Stiles. Stiles turned away from Derek towards her table. “What? I _liked_ the blindfold.”  
  
Derek snorted.  
  
And just like that- the weird tenseness dissipated, leaving them both trying to avoid the other’s gaze so that they wouldn’t bust out laughing.  Stiles reached over and grabbed Derek’s hand, tangling their fingers together on top of the fine tablecloth.  “Seriously though. It’s not a ... problem for me. I would have felt terrible if you had put me before the pack. It’s not ... supposed to work like that.” Stiles leaned forward to kiss Derek, a quick brush of lips that wouldn’t get them thrown out of the posh restaurant. He barely heard the older lady’s gasp over the dark sound Derek made in the back of his throat.  
  
Derek’s hand came up to cup the back of Stiles’ neck, fingers tangling slightly in his hair, holding him so that he could return the kiss. It was Stiles’ turn to freeze for a second, before trailing his hand up Derek’s arm to clutch his forearm. Derek’s tongue flicked against Stiles’ closed lips and he opened them on a short, serrated sigh. It was something they’d done hundreds of times, yet it never failed to send shivers down Stiles spine, leaving heat curling in his gut. Stiles felt the tiny tug on his hair and he pressed his lips against Derek’s, their tongues touching briefly before leaving the kiss relatively chaste. For them, anyway.  
  
“Ah.. ahem. Excuse me, sirs.”  
  
Derek wouldn’t let Stiles jump away, taking his time and finishing up the kiss then pulling away slowly with a peck on his nose that made Stiles’ slightly embarrassed grin turn completely goofy at the sweet gesture.    
  
When they broke apart the waiter was doing his best not to let his stoic face split into a smile, fussing with their plates on the small tray that the other waiter patiently held, like waiting for people to finish making out while he held piping hot dishes was a fairly normal occurrence.  
  
Hell, for a place this fancy, maybe it was. Stiles shifted slightly, moving away from Derek and turning so that he was facing the old lady again. She flicked her gaze towards the two of them before giving an injured sniff and going back to her risotto.    
  
Derek shifted slightly in his seat and Stiles dropped his hand down so that they could tangle their fingers together under the tablecloth. Derek picked up Stiles’ hand and set it on his thigh. Stiles caught his breath again at the heat under his palm, trying not to overreact as the waiters took away their appetizer plates and put the pasta dishes in front of each of them.    
  
He felt a little funny that Derek had ordered for him, but it was kind of sweet in a weird way, too. Derek knew Stiles well enough not to order red sauce.  Stiles poked at the pasta with his shrimp fork and Derek did that thing with his eyes that made it seem like he was pissed, when he was really laughing his ass off.  Stiles took a bite and groaned, sighing as different flavors burst on his tongue.  
  
“So, ah. When did you learn how to fly a plane? Because hello? That’s like ...” Stiles pursed his lips, sucking on the end of the noodles. They were almost paper thin, they still made him feel like he was ten again, trying to get the perfect bite of pasta on his fork. He’d never quite mastered that, either.  
  
“While I was back East. Laura was sick of me... well. I wasn’t really...” Derek broke off and Stiles wanted to stab himself in the eye. Way to make date conversation. Bring up your boyfriend’s brutally murdered family. Classic.  Stiles frowned down at his plate, watching all the noodles slide off with a plop of sauce.  
  
“Flying was... it made me feel in control. I thought I’d feel trapped, you know being in such a small space? But it’s...” Derek broke off, staring off into space. Stiles squeezed his fingers under the table, and Derek’s mercurial gaze zeroed on where Stiles was stabbing at the noodles on his plate, glaring down at them like he could frighten them into submission.  “Oh my god, Stiles. “Thats not how you fork.  Your angle is all wrong."  
  
The old lady’s gasp made Stiles sit up straight in his seat, shocked. This was Derek being.. playful.  It was amazingly hot. "Would you like to do this bit?"  There was a pause while Stiles reached out and did something that he hoped looked as sexy in reality as it looked in his head to the noodles, twisting his tongue around them with a few flicks of the tip. At the same time, Stiles moved their hands still resting on Derek’s thigh up a few inches.  
  
Stiles pressed with the side of his pinky finger into the very top of the crease of Derek’s thigh, pressing into the muscle there.  
  
Derek’s fingers tightened on his. The hand above the table flew out to grasp the stem of the wine glass, and Derek sucked down a few gulps of his wine.  
  
"Exactly. Now shut up and you can teach me all about it later.” Stiles shifted a little in his seat, glad for the long, white tablecloth. “You are pretty much the expert on forking. I’m just the sidekick.”  He moved his pinky a little, stroking the bulge of Derek’s dick under the fine material of the suit.Stiles could feel him thickening and lengthening.  It was very, very obvious that Stiles wasn’t the only one not wearing underwear. Stiles’ fingers traced the familiar shape under the trousers, Derek pressing his hand down once, hard, then letting go.  
  
Stiles tried to take a nonchalant bite of his pasta.  It could have tasted like dust for all he noticed what he was eating. He ignored Derek’s low moan, slowly walking his fingers down Derek’s thigh and over his knee. Stiles saw the couple across from him hissing at each other across the table and blinked, all at once painfully aware what he was doing. In public.  
  
The man that was seated with the older lady looked like he was about to choke to death on his tongue, eyes almost dancing with laughter. He was several years younger, and Stiles really, _really_ hoped that they weren’t on a date. The older lady threw down her napkin and with a “Oh, _honestly!_ ” stalked off towards the front door, leaving the younger man to deal with their check.    
  
“Oh, you are going to be in so much trouble later.”  
  
Stiles very carefully didn’t meet Derek’s gaze. He licked his bottom lip, tasting garlic and the delicate white sauce.    
  
“Well, not that I’m not enjoying myself here- because yeah. This place is... wow. It’s really something, but I think we can finish this date at home, don’t you? Or are you still wanting to show me off?”  
  
If Stiles wasn’t so turned on, he would have probably laughed at the cheesiness of his attempt at chatting up Derek. He jumped when Derek’s long fingers, cold from the wine glass reached out to turn his chin towards him so that Stiles was staring into Derek’s heavily-lidded gaze.  
  
“Oh. Didn’t I tell you?” Derek leaned forward and kissed him again, nipping at Stiles’ lower lip. Stiles felt every single muscle in his body freeze, then practically melt into the seat. “I never said we were going ... home.”  
  
Stiles made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a dying whale. He waved his hand feebly at one of the waiters. “Uh. Check... please!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make sure everyone's clear, this fic is a couple of years past the end of HTLR, leaving everyone all nice and legal. :D

To say that it was difficult for the two of them to keep their hands off one another was pretty much the biggest understatement of the year. Derek didn’t seem to mind how handsy Stiles was getting; in fact he almost seemed to be getting off on it, if the way he would kiss Stiles after someone made direct eye-contact (then looking away even more quickly) was any indication.  
  
“We... I mean... this car is nice and all, but I feel like I’m cheating on your Camaro.”  Stiles pulled away from Derek’s mouth, only to suck in a deep breath at the way Derek started to follow Stiles’ mouth with his own, like he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop.    
  
They hadn’t made it far, but frankly Stiles thought the semi-darkened parking garage had its talking points.  He just didn’t think it was physically possible to have sex in a car this small.  
  
Derek licked his lips, then blinked. pressing his slightly sweaty forehead to Stiles’ as he sucked in the humid air trapped in the car. Stiles belatedly realized that he would have a much better chance of sticking to his point if he got off of Derek’s lap. His knee slipped on the bunched up fabric of Derek’s jacket, and he overbalanced, knocking his head against the rear-view mirror.  
  
“Ow. Fucking--- _ow_ , why is the gear shift right _there_?!” Stiles flung himself back into the seat (okay so he wasn’t so much _flinging_ as collapsing in agonizing ball-crushing _pain_ ) rubbing himself with a grimace.  
  
Derek very carefully didn’t say anything.  Loudly.  He wouldn’t even meet Stiles’ gaze, which was probably a good thing.  Nothing quite as unsexy as two grown adults giggling like twelve-year olds after a well-placed shot in the nuts. Stiles blinked a few times, settling back in the seat.  “Didn’t you say that we were going to go somewhere else?”  
  
“I. Yeah. I...”  Stiles noticed that Derek was staring at him out of the corner of his eye.  Stiles turned to look out the window, smirking a little to himself as he got a truly wicked idea. Derek put the car into reverse and carefully backed out. Stiles winced when he put his seatbelt on, bending so that he could slide the car’s seat all the way back. It clicked into place with a small thunk.  “It’s only about fifteen minutes or so away. You...okay?”  
  
“Mm.” Stiles stretched out in the seat, looking out the window.  He couldn’t really tell where they were- other than ‘somewhere in Seattle,’ but Stiles didn’t really care. All he could see from his window was the flash of fluorescent lights from the parking garage as Derek slowly drove.  
  
Stiles chanced a quick flick of his gaze to Derek’s profile, then brought his hand to his balls, rubbing as though they still hurt.  He was still painfully hard. “This doesn’t bother you, does it?”  Stiles had a weird view of the small car. His seat was tilted back so far that he couldn’t see out his own window. All Stiles could see of Derek was his shoulder and arm, the thick, blunt fingers that he knew so well.  Stiles twisted a little in his seat, undoing the button of his suit trousers with a quick twist of his fingers.  
  
“No. As long as you’re okay.” Derek braked, then started driving again, retracing their way back to the parking garage’s main entrance.  
  
“Hmmm.” Stiles stretched, letting his hands fall onto his zip as though his heart wasn’t beating through his chest. The sound of his zipper was extremely loud in the quiet car.  The sharp sound of Derek sucking in his breath was much, much, louder.   Slowly, half expecting Derek to tell him to stop at any time, Stiles reached into his trousers and pulled out his cock, moaning a little at the relief.  
  
The squeal of the car breaks made Stiles jerk his startled, nervous gaze up to Derek, who had twisted in his seat to stare down at him, hazel eyes almost pinning Stiles into place.    
  
“ _Christ,_ Stiles.” Derek’s hands clutched the steering wheel so hard the leather-covered plastic groaned under his grip.    
  
Stiles ripped his gaze away from Derek’s, wrapping his hand around his cock and biting his lip. He could feel himself blush, but didn’t know if that was because his familiar touch felt really fucking good, or if he was really fucking embarrassed by jerking himself off in a car.  
  
“Anyone could see you.” Derek didn’t sound like he was complaining. His voice had lowered, the words falling from his throat gravelly with want.  Stiles couldn’t stifle the little sound he made at hearing them.  
  
He moved his thumb over the slick head of his dick, tilting his neck so his head pressed back onto the seat. He closed his eyes.  Stiles stroked himself slowly, much closer to finishing than he thought he’d be.  Belatedly, he noticed that Derek was driving again, and peeked through his almost closed eyelids to see that Derek’s hands were at an almost perfect 9 and 3 o’clock position that Stiles remembered from his Driver’s Ed class. Stiles lost himself for a minute, just stroking more for Derek’s benefit (although he wasn’t exactly riding on waves of altruism, here) than anything else, content with the slightly nervous edge actually doing this gave him.  
  
Stiles was taken out of his head rather abruptly when Derek threw his suit jacket at him, covering up what he was doing. Stiles had just a second to freeze in horrified surprise before he realized Derek was rolling down his window and talking to the parking garage attendant. Stiles bit his lip, mind flying in a twelve different directions at once as he listened to Derek’s conversation.  
  
“Ah, wow man. Nice fucking car. I had me a Mercedes 550, like this. Or is this the 320? Anyway, my ex-wife got her in the divorce.”  
  
Derek grunted something at the guy, and Stiles had to turn away, looking at the small glimpse of concrete from his own car window so that he wouldn’t laugh out loud. He gave himself a very slow, very thorough stroke, squeezing his eyes shut at the bright sparks of heat that lit behind his eyelids at the sensation. Stiles was very carefully not thinking about the parking attendant, but absolutely certain that his boyfriend, with the _razor-sharp werewolf senses_ would know exactly what he was doing.  
  
“That’ll be five-fifty.”  
  
Stiles heard Derek shifting in the seat, getting out his wallet and paying the guy. Stiles waited until the car had started to move forward, probably waiting for the little pass-through gate to go up, before he moved his hand again from under Derek’s jacket, sliding his wet thumb over his bottom lip.  
  
He grinned when Derek hit the accelerator, sending the small car jerking forward. “I’m going to...” Derek made a strangled sound deep in his throat. “You have no idea. That guy... he kept l _ooking_ at...” Derek broke off again when Stiles pushed the jacket down to his feet, curling a little towards Derek as he continued.  
  
Stiles licked his bottom lip and watched Derek’s cheekbones as he sucked in a breath. “So how far... oh. _Ohh._ Are we?”  
  
“Ten minutes. Eight.”  
  
“Should be just ... _nnngh_...enough time.”  
  
“ _Fuck._ ”  
  
The seat was back too far for Stiles to touch Derek, so he turned back onto his back again. With his eyes closed he had no idea if anyone could see him or not. The car was dark, sure, but there were headlights, and the streetlamps that probably would have given anyone a show that cared to look. “I thought that was the point of... tonight? You wanted to...” Stiles sucked in a serrated breath as he saw Derek’s right hand release its death grip on the steering wheel and press the heel of his hand against his own dick. “To show me off.”  
  
“Yeah, well if I get a speeding ticket, the rest of the night is pretty well fucked.” Stiles could practically _hear_ Derek roll his eyes once he realized what he said.  
  
“Yeah... but. Oh, _gah_...” Stiles had to grab the base of his dick and squeeze, biting his lip. “.. if you don’t get me there pretty soon, I’m gonna come in this.....”  
  
Derek swore under his breath. Stiles had his eyes shut, so he couldn’t exactly see what Derek did, but there was a squeal of brakes, the blare of a few car horns and a bump as the small vehicle went over a curb. Before Stiles could jacknife up to see what the fuck had just happened, there was the rip of a seatbelt and Derek’s hot mouth was wrapped around Stiles’ dick, sucking hard at the head.  
  
Stiles screeched in shock, arching up into the wet cavern of Derek’s mouth with a flex of his ass, feeling the way Derek’s nails scratched just enough into his thigh that he and Derek were connected, that Derek was there, right _there_ with him, and oh. Ohhhh, _fuck_.  
  
******  
Stiles was still blissed out ten minutes later when Derek walked with him up towards their room. Stiles had glimpses of fine, dark cherry wood and chrome finishes before he was crowded into the corner of an elevator and kissing Derek like he was going to be quizzed on it later. The familiar messenger bag smacked against his side and Stiles pushed it aside with a frustrated groan. He could taste a little of Derek’s wine from dinner, and a lot of himself, and goddamnit if he didn’t get behind a closed door really fucking soon, he was going to get arrested for public indecency.  
  
Apparently Derek was a mindreader.  
  
He slammed Stiles up against the door hard enough that Stiles lost his breath for a split-second, digging his fingers into Derek’s shoulders. Even with an abrupt movement like that,  Derek made sure to cup the back of Stiles’ head, ensuring that even if he was a bit... enthusiastic he never crossed the line into actually hurting his slightly more fragile, human partner. If Stiles’ mouth wasn’t completely busy his lips would be stretched in a really goofy grin.  
  
Derek thrust against him, pressing Stiles up further against the door with his thigh between Stiles’ parted legs.  Derek scraped his teeth over the sharp jut of Stiles’ jaw, then stopped for a second, nuzzling his nose under Stiles’ ear. The messenger bag flomped against Derek’s side again and it was Derek’s turn to push it out of their way.  
  
“We should... I mean.. generally this sort of thing happens inside the room.” Stiles coughed a little, staring blindly at the opposite wall of the corridor.  
  
For some reason, that struck Derek as hilarious. Stiles was pressed so closely to Derek that he could feel the huff of his laughter. Derek nipped at Stiles’ neck just over the collar of the expensive shirt and Stiles slid his hands over Derek’s broad shoulders, pawing at the back of Derek’s shirt, desperate to get his hands on skin.  
  
There was a beep of the door being unlocked, and Stiles would have fallen inside if Derek hadn’t straightened, lifting Stiles up and carrying him- not to the bed, which hey. Stiles kind of expected. Let it never be said that Derek Hale was a slave to convention.  
  
Especially when he pressed Stiles up against a large stretch of glass, then  took a step back, mouth wrecked and still breathing heavily as he stared at Stiles who slumped against the glass.    
  
Slowly, one of Derek’s hands pinned him against the smooth surface, pressing just over Stiles’ thrumming heart. “Turn and look.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Look behind you, Stiles. through the glass.”  
  
Stiles made a little face but turned his neck, only to do a double-take and stare outright, a little embarrassed.  The building across from the hotel looked to be an apartment building. Stiles could see directly into two different apartments, both of which were a little on the small side. One guy looked to be lost in his own world, playing xbox.  Stiles had yelled at his own tv enough to know what that looked like.  
  
The man from the next apartment was completely lost in his own little world. Stiles had to laugh.  He was dressed in blindingly white briefs, a Kiss the Cook apron and what looked to be a huge pair of headphones.  He had his eyes closed and was directing an invisible orchestra with a spatula.  Stiles snickered.  He could see them because both of the apartments had their lights on, but was pretty sure they couldn’t see him and Derek unless one of them were to...  
  
Derek turned on one of the lights, making Stiles jump in place.  
  
Stiles turned, staring at his boyfriend who, amazingly, looked a little nervous. Derek rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting down to the floor and up to meet Stiles’ eyes.  “Is this.. okay?”  
  
Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding me right now?”  
  
Derek frowned and froze, before reaching out to turn off the lamp.  
  
“No! I mean... _no_. No problems here. Get _over_ here. _Jesus_.”  
  
“You don’t have to call me Jesus.”  
  
Stiles rolled his eyes hard enough that he was surprised he didn’t sprain something. He shrugged out of the perfectly-fitted jacket, tossing it somewhere close to the bed. He didn’t want to think too closely about what Lydia would do to him when she saw how wrinkled it was, then remembered the state of Derek’s jacket and had to grin.  He undid his tie and tossed it, watching as it slithered down off of the bed onto the floor. The shirt took a little more coordination than he thought he was capable of at the moment. Stiles watched as Derek rummaged in the messenger bag a little frantically, sending things flying before he made a little ‘aha’ sound and shoved something in his pocket.  
  
By then, Stiles had kicked off his shoes and socks and was working on the slightly overworked trouser button.  There was a shift of air and Derek was suddenly just _there,_ pressing Stiles’ naked back into the cold glass of the plate window. He yipped a little before his own body heat warmed it up.  
  
“You have an audience.” Derek’s rumble caused things in Stiles’ body to tighten. His cock thickened in his loose suit trousers and he pressed his head back against the glass, breathless.  
  
“I’m pretty sure they’re looking at you. Who wouldn’t look at you? Sometimes I can’t even believe that _I’m_ allowed to look at you.”  
  
Derek bent down to lick lightly at the seam of Stiles’ lips, waiting patiently until Stiles opened his mouth to kiss him back. He waited until just before Stiles completely gave himself over to the kiss before jerking back and flipping Stiles so that his front was pressed against the window, mouth still open a little from their kiss.  
  
Stiles caught himself with his hands, feeling Derek still fully clothed, pressed up behind him. “Look. Your admirer is thinking that it’s his lucky day.” Derek slowly moved his hands to Stiles’ wrists, pulling them up over Stiles’ head so that his palms were pressed to the glass. Stiles pressed his sweaty forehead to the window, staring out across to the building while Derek kissed at the back of his neck.  
  
The guy with the headphones had moved onto some kind of performance art dancing thing.  Stiles didn’t know what he was listening to, but from the gyrating hip and booty shaking, he fervently hoped he never, ever listened to it. Derek bit him, sucking on the skin until Stiles pressed his fingers into the glass, pushing his body towards Derek’s with a cry. Derek tapped the side of Stiles’ neck and he shifted his attention towards the other apartment.  
  
The xbox guy was staring directly at Stiles with his mouth slightly open. Stiles watched him drop the controller as Derek reached around, cupping Stiles’ dick through the fabric, tightly enough that Stiles jerked against his body.  He could feel Derek pressed against him, and his eyes drifted shut at the sensation.  
  
“I wasn’t sure if I’d like the idea of someone watching you.” Derek sounded perfectly conversational. His hand undid the zipper and Stiles was left naked, except for Derek’s fist wrapped around the shaft of his cock. “But look at him.  He’s about to come already, and we’ve hardly done anything.”  
  
Stiles wasn’t exactly sure if his and Derek’s definition of ‘hardly done anything’ matched, but at this point he was willing to keep his mouth shut.  
  
“Derek...” Stiles didn’t mean for his voice to sound that breathy, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Derek had him pressed so closely that there wasn’t quite enough room for his dick to jut out naturally. Even  standing as they were, Derek’s knuckles rapped against the glass from the simple, rhythmic movements of his wrist.  Stiles looked down to see that he was kind of trapped between the heat of Derek’s hands and  cool  surface of the window,  leaving a wet smear of precome against its surface. Derek answered with a little laugh, kissing at Stiles’ shoulderblades, working his way down, kissing and licking at the bumps on Stiles’ back, rubbing his scent over the muscles that twitched as Derek knelt behind him.  
  
Stiles’ eyes popped open as he felt Derek’s lips brush against his hipbone. He blinked, then sucked in a sharp breath when Derek gently pushed his legs apart. His head was tilted against the glass just enough that he could see their reflections in the soft light of the hotel room. Derek was still dressed. Stiles watched his boyfriend  as he opened up the small package with his teeth and wet his fingers.  
  
Stiles realized that his helplessly crumpled trousers were still pooled around his ankles and he kicked them off, shivering when Derek laughed at him, feeling each low chuckle against his  slightly sweaty skin.. Stiles felt his blush from his head down all the way to his toes as he gasped for air. The glass of the window had warmed to his body heat by now and Stiles found himself rubbing against the hard surface, shivering at the weird friction.  
  
“What’s your friend doing?”  
  
“My- my what?” Stiles wasn’t exactly thinking coherently.  
  
“Your friend.”  
  
Stiles blinked, moving so that he was balanced on his head and one shoulder, holding himself open for Derek. He smirked when Derek made the growly sound that he loved so much, then just about swallowed his tongue when Derek took advantage of Stiles’ position to slide in one slick finger. Stiles went up on tippy toe, his jaw falling open. “Fuck. _Fuck_... Derek!”  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
Oh. Oh yeah. “Uh. He. He turned off his light. But the tv is still on.  I can see his silhouette by his window. His breath.. he’s watching...  uh. It’s.. oh guh-guh- _god_.”  Derek teased him with another wet finger against his rim, only pressing in when Stiles pressed back towards Derek’s hand. He got a nip on his buttcheek for his trouble.  It wasn’t exactly a deterrent. The second finger slid inside and Stiles moaned, forgetting to talk, or to think, or anything but the way his muscles tensed at the slow, teasing movement. For a few minutes, the only sound was the wet squelch of Derek’s fingers inside of Stiles’ hole, the sound of both of their heavy breathing, and the slight squeak of Stiles grinding his sweaty shoulder into the window glass for leverage so that he could push back onto Derek’s fingers.  
  
“Christ. I’ve been hard since you walked down that fucking staircase. I don't think this is going to last very long.” Derek sounded like he was in pain. Stiles turned to look at him, reaching down to pull him up by his tie so that they could kiss again, messy and wet. From there it was just the stretch of another finger, Stiles moaning into the glass as he finally-- _finally_!-- heard the sound of Derek’s zipper, and the jolt at feeling the heat of Derek’s cockhead pressing against where his fingers had been only seconds before.  
  
Stiles slipped when Derek slid into him, flailing a little with his arms. Derek picked him up in one compact movement of his hips, thrusting so that he was fully seated inside of Stiles and holding his hips so that he wouldn’t fall.  
  
Stiles hand’s slammed against the window so hard that the glass rattled in its frame. He loved it when Derek used his strength like that, moving Stiles around to just where he wanted him. Derek’s chin hooked on Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles fumbled for his own dick, squeezing slightly. He had absolutely no leverage to thrust until he tried to wrap his legs around Derek’s calves, allowing himself to grind down onto Derek with a shout that burst from his throat.  
  
Stiles could have cared less about anyone watching. Everything in his world had narrowed down to Derek fucking him; his heat and scent and the rough brush of Derek’s clothes against Stiles’ naked skin.  The angle was off, and Stiles made a little frustrated sound when he couldn’t get Derek as deeply as he wanted.  Derek seemed to know what he wanted before Stiles did, and had moved them both to the bed with two quick steps before Stiles could do much more than whine a little in the back of his throat. Stiles landed on his hands and knees and immediately scrambled to spread his legs, wiggling a little in his impatience.  
  
Derek seemed to pull each moan and shout from Stiles’ body, sliding slowly back inside with short little thrusts, teasing them both for as long as he could.  
  
“Please. Please, come on, _please_ Derek oh. _Ohhhh_...”  Stiles trailed off on a high-pitched shout when Derek stopped teasing, thrusting inside him so deeply that their balls slid together, wet from sweat and the lube.  
  
Derek was just as loud, the repeated “Stiles.. Stiles... _Stiles_ ” sending tingles along his whole body each time Derek slammed into him. He heard Derek’s strangled shout, felt Derek’s thick cock jerk inside of him before Stiles came for the second time that night, muffling his scream against the bedspread.  
  
For a few seconds, all Stiles was aware of was the thud of Derek’s heart against his back. The air conditioning kicked on, causing him to shiver.  His body still tingled, and he was pretty sure he was going to have to go into the witness protection program to save himself from secondhand embarrassment when he fully thought about what they had just done, but for now he was perfectly content to lay sprawled on the bed, Derek a solid weight against his back.  Derek made a soft sound and tangled their fingers together, moving slightly so that they were both on their sides, still breathing heavily.  
  
Stiles opened one eye at the sound of Derek ripping his shirt off, too sex-stupid to bother with the fine buttons that had somehow held it together. Derek fumbled with cleaning them up, something that Stiles felt no small amount of smugness over, before flopping over on his back so that Stiles could curl up next to him.  Stiles felt Derek’s lips brush against the top of his slightly sweaty head and Stiles made a sleepy, contented sound of pure happiness.    
  
It wasn’t a bad first date... if he did say so himself.  
  
  
****  
“Oh my _god_.”  
  
Derek jackknifed straight up at the sound of Stiles’ squeak, looking around for the threat before he realized that Stiles was just staring at the window with a look on his face that was equally horrified, humiliated, and about to burst into laughter.  He blinked a few times, noticing that Stiles must have gotten up to go take a shower. He was covered with little wet drops, the towel having dipped rather precariously when Stiles screeched, his hands covering his bright red cheeks.  
  
Derek  turned to follow Stiles’ gaze. He blinked. Blinked again, then started to laugh, a deep, rolling, rich laugh that he had absolutely no hope of containing. Stiles turned to look at him, his hands on his hips, but at the look on Derek’s face he couldn’t seem to hold in his own giggles, collapsing onto the bed and covering his face with his hands.  
  
Written on the xbox guy’s apartment window in what looked to be black marker was:  
  
**DO U 2 DO REPEAT PERFORMANCES? THAT WAS SO HAWT. IF YOU WANNA SEE WHAT YOU LOOKED LIKE  FIND ME ON YOUPORN. XXXLIKES2WATCHXXX69.**  
  
In smaller writing, written so closely to the frame that they could barely see it was:  
  
**HOLYSHIT HAVE 850,232 HITS ALREADY! HOPE UR STAYING THE WHOLE WEEKEND!**  
  


 

 

  
The end!!!  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cough. Um. I REGRET NOTHING.

**Author's Note:**

> Hai!  
> I was bored (okay I was procrastinating writing ~~Sherlock fic~~ something else) and I asked for some prompts on Tumblr. Here’s what I got:
> 
> “Thats not how you fork. Your angle is all wrong." "Would you like to do this bit?" (pause) "Exactly. Now shut up and you can teach me all about it later." (kirawords)
> 
> “~How is it that my life has gotten to the point that you telling me that sounds completely normal?” (tinocka)
> 
> "Who do you think you are?!" "Who do YOU think I am?" (ihniandern)
> 
> And... “porn, please.” (derp. I think I can do that one. :D) (diva0789)
> 
> As always, thanks for commenting and the concrit, either here [tumblr](http://1lostone.tumblr.com/), or [twitter](https://twitter.com/1geekgirl)!


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